Springtime for Farla
by IceKittyWarmKitty
Summary: "You made Her Grammatical Correctness look like a fool!" "She didn't need our help!"


Project: Springtime for Farla

Disclaimer: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is very, very unfortunate.

"Spare me the 'I didn't know it was harmful!' speech, trainer. The chemicals in the rare candy have damaged the pikachu's brain, and now he might have to be euthanized. I'd gladly euthanize you, but I have not gained enough influence to make your kind of stupidity fatal." Farla Phelps snatched Will's poké ball from his belt, sneering as tears raced down his cheeks.

"What gives you the right to do this?" Will gave Farla a glare made up of equal parts sadness, anger, and shock.

"The fact that I'm right gives me the right," she huffed. "You don't seem to grasp that. Be grateful that I only took your pikachu. I should take all of the pokémon on your belt as punishment what you did. But I am merciful, and want to see you become a good, moral trainer. Don't waste this chance." She shoved him to the ground and marched off.

The corruption in the world both disgusted and motivated Farla. Her encounter with Will was nothing new - this was the seventh time this month that she caught a trainer using a man-made item on a pokémon. That was far from the worst thing she had ever seen - there were as many ways to abuse a pokémon as there were pokémon themselves in the world. If she could walk with crowds and not only keep her virtue, but increase it, that would be proof of the goodness of her cause.

The Code of Farla consisted of only two rules. First, confront the thieves one-on-one. Bystanders who didn't understand the righteousness of her cause couldn't be trusted to act rationally. Second, be careful when trying to save pokémon from adults. She deduced early on that adults would just call the police, who would think there was nothing wrong with the way the trainer was treating their pokémon, and go after her instead. If she got arrested, less pokémon would be saved in the long run. Kids, on the other hand, were less inclined to defend their sins, and were more open to learning a painful lesson.

_Evil had no power to harm good,_ she reflected, as she walked further down the route.

It wasn't much longer before another test arrived, this time in a the form of a teenage girl. She was standing under a watmel plant, holding a squirtle close to her chest as it bubblebeamed the plump fruits to the ground, next to empty pink and green rinds. A watmel starts out sweet, but the sweetness quickly fades and is overtaken by bitterness, much like the life of sin that the kid no doubt led. Farla would make sure this girl knew that.

"You're revolting." Farla gently lifted the wide-eyed squirtle to the ground. "First of all, you were holding that squirtle incorrectly. If you can't at least do that, just let the poor thing walk. Second, you have obviously been letting the squirtle eat watmel berries. You might as well have fed it sugar straight from the bag. It'll be lucky if it doesn't get diabetes." She grabbed the blue poké ball on the girl's belt.

The girl's eyes widened as she reached for the ball. "Louis is my squirtle, not yours!"

Farla dangled it just out of arm's reach. "You gave up all of your rights the moment you started abusing your pokémon."

"What's all this about?" said a voice in the distance.

Farla scowled in the direction of the voice. "It's grammatically incorrect to end a sentence in a preposition."

"What's all this about, you thief? You can't just take pokémon from anyone you please!"

"I don't have to prove the righteousness of my cause to you. _You_ have to convince _me_ that you're right."

"You can't take my friend's pokémon away just because you don't like how she's raising it!"

"It's for the squirtle's own good. Your little friend is obviously unable to take care of sea monkeys, let alone pokémon."

That was apparently enough to demoralize or convince the enabler, who rushed off into the distance, leaving the girl sobbing. Farla recalled the squirtle and moved on.

Some time later, Farla got close enough to a city to notice a sulking young man sitting on a bench next to an older man, a chansey singing softly to the younger one. If such a pokémon were to spend too much time in the presence of a sad person, it could become very unwell.

An adult, as opposed to a child, would be harder to convince. Children were more open to reason, while adults were wrapped in protective layers of ideology. However, the display of a weapon could cut right through such barriers, like a universal language.

In one quick movement, Farla strode up to the older man and held a pistol to his head. "Give me the chansey," she seethed. "Your son is a hazard to her health."

"Who died and made you queen?" the older man sputtered. "The psychiatrist said she could help my son overcome his depression-"

"Depression is a choice, if he just stopped whining, it would disappear. The chansey, on the other hand, can get physically sick from his blubbering. And shame on you, you're a horrible father, teaching your son it's all right to mistreat pokémon if it makes him feel better." She took the silver ball out of his pocket. "Go home. She's in my care now."

The man and his son left. Violence solves all problems!

Oddly, the chansey followed. Stockholm syndrome, of course. She dashed in front of the incarnation of cheer and stroked her on the top of her head. "Don't worry, little egghead. You have a new home, a good home, and a trainer who knows how to treat you right-I mean, correctly." She pulled out her poké ball, and with the softest touch, turned the chansey into red light.

* * *

Brett Phoque, Farla's boyfriend, welcomed her home. "Hi, HONEY. What POKÉMON did YOU rescue?"

"Don't shout every noun. It seems like YOU put THEM in all-caps." Farla rolled her eyes and giggled, correcting him, as usual.

As usual, he didn't listen. "I was out hunting, and I made VENISON for the TWO of US for LUNCH. THIS is one REASON I stick to my GUNS."

The grilled venison was tough to chew, but very flavorful, and the two enjoyed their meal as they watched the news. On the Chatot Broadcasting Corporation News channel, "Police looking for alleged Pokémon kidnapper" scrolled across the news ticker.

_My good mood! My poor good mood!_ thought Farla. "Their grammar is horrible, but a pokémon kidnapper? How atrocious. That person should be shot!"

"If THEY let ME get near the KIDNAPPER, THAT can be arranged." Brett cocked his head and winked.

Farla chuckled. "Oh, you little brat, what will I ever do with you?"

"I have an IDEA..."

* * *

After enjoying some quality time with Brett, she sent out all of today's rescues and led them outside through the back door. That was the most satisfying part of her self-appointed position - watching them look around tentatively, from the shock, then turning tail and dashing into the yard, which she saw as a political asylum. She softly sung to herself:

"You don't care, if they're hurt

If they get covered in dirt

They don't care, you will see

Farla's coming, they'll run free..."

Speaking of which...

The pikachu, Louis, and the chansey weren't frolicking in the field. They merely watched her, with wary, unblinking eyes.

Poor dears. When your trust is betrayed, it's hard to trust again. One good way to start a friendship with a human, she found, worked equally well with pokémon.

"There's plenty to eat here." After trotting to the kitchen, she took out parsley, peppers, cabbages, celery, asparagus, watercress, fiddleferns, lettuce, rutabaga, arugula, and her favorite, rampion.

Farla presented a leaf of lettuce to Louis, who just stared blankly.

It's all right, he probably just needs a little encouragement. "Here comes the Lettuce Express-" she imitated a train whistle, "-into the tunnel!" Louis turned his head away.

She moved to his other side. "Here comes the pirate ship to hide treasure in the secret cave!" Louis scrunched up his face a little and turned his head once more.

One last try. "Here comes the X-Wing space fighter zooming around through hyperspace with proton torpedoes to blow up the Death Star!" She wildly flailed her arms around, holding up the lettuce up to his mouth with a shaking hand. Louis did nothing but stick his tongue out.

Her face fell at her lack of success.

* * *

Two hours later, Farla was still trying to get Louis to eat when she heard the doorbell ring. She opened the door, and saw a solemn-faced blue-haired girl.

"Excuse me, Ms. Phelps?"

"Yes...?"

The girl bowed her head. "I have an eevee that I realized I was treating incorrectly. I would like you to take it into your care."

A convert? And a teenager, no less! "Well, come on in." Farla opened the door wider.

"First, I would like to see the other pokémon you have here. I want to know who my eevee's friends will be."

"Gladly." She led the visitor to the kitchen. "Here is a squirtle I rescued. He still hasn't eaten anything, he must've been quite traumatized by his previous owner-"

Farla was so chuffed that someone was seeing the light, she didn't notice the girl taking out a pair of handcuffs. "Ms. Farla Phelps, you are under arrest."

"Impossible." Farla had done nothing wrong. Nothing gave them the right to arrest her. She was so shocked, she didn't even process the fact that the plain-clothes officer had moved her arms behind her back and handcuffed her.

"Someone called us anonymously. His friend's Squirtle was stolen, and the description of the thief matched you. When I saw the scar on Louis' left arm, that clinched it. You're under arrest for stealing and Pokémon-"

"You're putting too much emphasis on pokémon names," Farla corrected, her voice dispassionate yet defiant.

"Wag your finger at me one more time and I'm gonna break it."

"'Gonna' is not a proper word."

The officer grumbled, and took out her night stick.

* * *

In Farla's cell, a television tuned to the Chatot News channel proudly displayed the newest headline.

"Pokémon kidnapper found, lost Pikachu, Squirtle, Chansey returned to owners"

Farla gritted her teeth as she held an ice pack to her bad hand. "They wouldn't capitalize 'mouse' or 'dragon', so why are they capitalizing 'squirtle'? They also need a period at the end of the sentence. How did they pass English class with that non-understanding of English?"

Her cellmate rolled her eyes. "Are you done talking yet?"

* * *

The first night, Farla woke up, staring at a big black shape, about 2 meters tall, with a glowing red orb near the top.

"found you"

"Th-that's not a c-c-complete s-sentence," she managed to choke out.

The figure held out its large arms and moved near Farla. Darkness closed around her, and she knew no more.

* * *

The next morning, Pokémon trainers from all around the world breathed a little easier.

Farla Phelps had the largest known collection of stolen Pokémon that wasn't owned by a gang of some sort. When the news that Farla had mysteriously disappeared from her cell before she had a chance to stand trial had gotten out, the people who she had taken Pokémon from came out of the woodwork, baffled that their harasser didn't have any authorization to harass, and that they had not told anyone about her before. The police were able to extract the trainer information from the Poké Balls, and the Pokémon were sent to the PC systems of their proper owners post-haste. Her financial assets were donated to the Please Please Pleese Get A Life Foundation, or the P3GALF for short.

This meant that the trainers had a reason to celebrate.

* * *

"Enjoy, Louis!" Thelma handed a Watmel Berry to her Squirtle, who scarfed it down with a smile, and turned to Sid. "Thank you again for getting my Pokémon back!"

Sid nodded and gestured to the other partygoers. "I didn't know this was a big conspiracy, I was just doing what any friend would."

* * *

Xanthias, who had been hanging around with the Chansey ever since he got her back, was finally starting to recover from his depression. "It's so easy to get used to sadness, you aren't horrified by the severity of it until it's gone. Looking back, you ask yourself, 'Was that ME?'"

His father, Nikos, gave him a proud smile. "Everyone here is enjoying the heady feeling of freedom. They were lucky enough to be dragged down by external things, but you were lucky enough to have an internal problem that was fixable. Since she was so good for you, Chanseys will be used to treat people with mental illnesses around the globe."

* * *

"Catch me if you can, Komma!" Saphir von Smaragd laughed as she ran down the hallway.

"Arooo!" Komma das Arcanine tailed Saphir, and one Extremespeed later, was in front of her, making puppy-Growlithe eyes.

"Oh, all right. It's a special occasion, after all." Saphir pulled two Rare Candies out of her bag and unwrapped them.

* * *

Amaryllis, the head of P3GALF, took the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it has come to our attention that the stash included two Pokémon that weren't stolen. We are giving them away to the two trainers most recently robbed by Farla Phelps, Thelma McQueen and Will Arkman.

Thelma and Will ascended to the podium, and Amaryllis presented them with two Poké Balls.

"A level 5 Articuno, caught at Route 1 in Kanto, and a level 30 Espeon, Nova, caught in the ruins of a city far away."

After a few minutes of discussion, Thelma took the microphone.

"Will would like the Espeon, so you can give me the bird."

Amaryllis inserted the Poké Balls in a machine, changed the ownership of the Pokémon, and sent them out to formally introduce them to their new trainers.

* * *

An Articuno's native habitat is not a building, so the setting, coupled with the change in company (good or bad, it didn't matter, changes were changes), made the bird stare blankly at the girl.

It doesn't look comfortable. Take it slow. "Hello, Articuno. I'm your new trainer, Thelma." She moved a trembling hand to stroke the Pokémon's head.

The Articuno went through a series of reactions.

First, it stiffened at the sudden physical contact.

Second, its eyes widened, a fight-or-flight response triggered.

Third, it realized it wasn't being hurt, so it calmed down.

Finally, it closed its eyes and relaxed.

* * *

Will bowed to the purple vulpine creature. "I'm Will, and now you are in my care. I have a feeling you have a dark and troubled past-"

_You don't know the half of it!_ Nova eyed Will with anger and suspicion as she broadcasted her thoughts to the room. _What happened to me? Why am I here?_

Will tensed up, realizing his faux pas. _I can recover by answering her questions._ "Your previous trainer was found guilty of Pokémon theft and sent to jail, but she vanished in the middle of the night, so no one expects to see her again. You are here because her two Pokémon, the Articuno and you, are being given to me and Thelma, who were two of her most recent victims. I know, when your trust is betrayed, it's hard to trust again, but please, give me a chance, stay with me for at least a month. If you find you don't like being a kept Pokémon, I will release you, but I hope we can become friends."

_Hmmm... a fair deal. Very well._ Nova tentatively padded over to Will's side.

* * *

From michael dot bergson at gazette dot chatot dot sin

To joanne dot luxheart at gazette dot chatot dot sin:

Hey Joanne, since the news broke so fast, I didn't expect to working today. I type this under the influence of a hangover. This is a good start, right? We should interview Will and Thelma.

Farla Phelps was part of the force that would, always work the evil, but claim to work the good - if Team Plasma had a branch in Sinnoh, she would've joined it in a heartbeat. Believing just about every trainer she came across was abusing their Pokémon, she considered it her duty to "rescue" them. Recently, authorities were informed of a missing Pokémon and a physical description of Phelps, and the robber herself was robbed. The Pokémon were returned to their proper owners, with the exception of two owned by Phelps. The Espeon was given to Will Arkman, and the Articuno was given to Thelma McQueen, both victims of the crusade.

Michael

* * *

From joanne dot luxheart at gazette dot chatot dot sin

To michael dot bergson at gazette dot chatot dot sin:

Not bad, Bill Bergson. I'll contact them right now. Also, be sure to mention the mysterious schooner spotted on Route 223 with the "FarlaN" flag...

Joanne

* * *

The moral of the story is: Get a life, girlfriend! With a god complex like that, someone's gonna nail you to a cross.


End file.
